


The French Court Spectacle

by m3adrid



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, Complicated Relationships, Drama, F/M, First Time, Paganism, Romance, canon divercence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:40:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m3adrid/pseuds/m3adrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Poppy Tudor, and I am the future queen of Denmark and Norway. Although I am convinced of my illegitimacy, I have no choice but to find a noble, suitable husband. If things work out the way I want, I will be with Sebastian. But there is dishonesty in the French Court. Would you care to observe the spectacle?</p><p>Collection: http://www.polyvore.com/french_court_spectacle/collection?id=3141886</p>
            </blockquote>





	The French Court Spectacle

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of real persons in history (minus Poppy and Constance) and Reign. I take no credit. Some canon divergence.
> 
> Poppy:  
> http://www.polyvore.com/poppy1/set?id=105964127&lid=3154519  
> http://www.polyvore.com/poppy2/set?id=106393386&lid=3154519
> 
> Constance:  
> http://www.polyvore.com/constance1/set?id=138147245&lid=3154519  
> http://www.polyvore.com/constance2/set?id=138147313&lid=3154519

The carriage rocks along the rocky path, driving me crazy. I wish I could just skip the traveling part of this journey. I long to be in the French court, running through the castle with Francis. It has been years since I have seen my best friend, and I am looking forward to it. When the carriage finally ceases its movement, I straighten up and smooth the skirt of my dress. Constance, my handmaiden fluffs my hair. My big brother Frederick would be humiliated if I made of a fool of myself here. The door of the carriage opens, and a white gloved hand is offered to me. I take it, and climb out of the carriage. The wind blows through my pale yellow dress and musses my lively red hair. Through the bright strands, I can see Francis’ form a few hundred feet away. I use one hand to hold back my hair from my face and the other to lift my dress off the ground so I can run. My feet carry me closer and closer to Francis, who is waiting for me patiently, as a crown prince must. I barely notice that his fiancée is standing with her handmaidens when I slam into him. Francis catches me before I can knock him to the ground and hugs me tightly to him, crushing the flowers lining the top of my dress to my pale pink cloak. He eventually releases me, stepping back and looking me over. I have missed him so much.

“You look exactly the same, and it’s been five years. How is that possible?” Francis teases me. “It must be some sort of witchcraft.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Be quiet, Francis. You know exactly what I looked like when I was twelve. I seem to remember you being a quite awkward ten year old,” I respond.

“Poppy,” Francis says, glancing at the raven haired girl next to him.

“Oh. Forgive me. I take it you are Mary, Queen of Scotts?” She nods. I nod my head at her. “Your majesty. Since Francis doesn’t seem inclined to introduce me, I am Poppy Tudor, future queen of Denmark and Norway. This is my handmaiden, Constance.” Constance curtsies and bows her head.

“I wasn’t aware that Denmark has queens rule,” one of Mary’s handmaidens says. When I turn to look at her, she looks down immediately.

“I don’t think I know your maidens. Would you introduce me?” I ask, entirely ignoring the girl’s remark. I really don’t owe these girls any explanations about my life.

“Of course. This is Aylee, Kenna, Lola, and the nosy one is Greer,” Mary says, shooting Greer a look. Greer sighs.

“Nosy, hm? I’d say…curious.” Greer looks up at me expectantly. “My father died, and my older brother took his crown. He has since become very ill, and worries about the fate of Denmark. He has tasked me with finding a suitor and becoming queen.”

“What happened to that prince from Sweden?” Francis asks. I wrinkle my nose.

“He was caught sleeping with his sister,” I say. Then I shrug. “You know my heart was never in Sweden.”

“Yes, I do. Your heart was always here, in France.” Francis smiles at me. I notice a beautiful blonde girl behind him. She is glaring at me and Francis.

“Who is that?” He turns to look at her. She looks startled, and turns her gaze towards the forest.

“That is Olivia,” Francis informs me. I arch an eyebrow at him.

“The Olivia?” I study her for a moment. “Hm. I pictured her as being more… I don’t know, alluring, I guess.” I catch Mary’s eye as she smiles at me. “Now, onto the more important brother. Where is Bash?”

“What does it matter to you?” Lola asks.

“Another curious one,” I tease Mary. Mary hides her smile as her handmaiden glares at her. They must be close, like my handmaiden and I are. I consider Constance to be my friend. “Bash and I were also close growing up. We would always leave Francis out since he was younger than us.” I laugh at the memories.

“Yes, I remember,” Francis says unhappily.

“Oh, come on, Francis. You know that we were only teasing.”

“Yes. I know.” Francis looks back towards the castle and then to me. “Shall we go into your room?”

“We shall.” I smile at him and take his arm when he offers it. We walk ahead of Mary and her maidens. Constance follows at a close distance, but far enough back so that she doesn’t eavesdrop on my conversation with Francis. “Where is Bash, really?”  
Francis seems to debate internally for a few moments before answering me. “He’s in the infirmary. He was riding out to the battle when he was ambushed. He’s alive, and healing quickly, but still recovering. Would you like to go to him?”

“No. Your mother would probably have a fit. I’ll go to my room first.”

“Very well.” We begin the ascent to my regular room. “You know, my mother does very much enjoy your company. She thinks of you very dearly. I think that you remind her of herself, just much more…vocal.”

“I value your mother’s opinion. What she thinks means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Catherine says. She is standing in my room, looking as graceful as ever. “It has been a while since any woman viewed me in such a positive light. It’s good to see you again, dear.” She extends her arms to me, and I walk into them eagerly. For such a cold woman, Catherine gave surprisingly warm hugs. “What brings you to French Court?”

“Marital problems. The Swede I was meant to wed was involved in an incestuous relationship. Now I don’t quite know who to marry. Frederick wants me to be queen, and I can’t rule without a husband.”

Catherine laughs. “Dear, with your looks and personality, you’ll be wed within the week. I wish my son had married a girl like you.” She looks me up and down. “Or rather, woman, now.”

“Mother,” Francis sighs, embarrassed.

“It’s alright, Francis. So far I have found Mary to be quite enjoyable.”

“That’s because you haven’t irritated her yet.” Catherine hugs me again. “I’ll leave to let you get settled in. There will be a feast tonight, by the way, dear. It’s a welcome for our friend Tomas from Portugal. I’ll expect to see you there.”

I nod eagerly. “Of course. I cannot wait.” With a curt nod, Catherine leaves my chambers. I turn to Francis. “Let me see Bash now, please.”

“The sun is almost down. Get changed for the feast and we will go together to see Bash, then to eat.” Francis ignores my irritated look. “I’ll come back here once the sun sets,” he says as he is leaving the room.

“Francis!” He closes the door with a loud slam, ignoring my plea. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

“M’lady?” Constance asks from behind me. “I have unpacked your fine gowns. Which would you like to wear?”

“My red and gold dress, please, Constance. The one with the red fabric added on the back for the train. And my red silk shrug and heels that match the two. And whatever jewelry you feel matches.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Constance, I have told you hundreds of times. You may call me Poppy. I thought we had moved past this.”

“We have, m’lady. But this isn’t Denmark, nor Norway. This is French Court. Things are done differently here.”

“Mary, Queen of Scotts and future queen of France, has her ladies address her by name. We’ve known each other too long to call each other but our names, Constance.”

“As you wish,” Constance hesitates. “Poppy.”

“Thank you.”

“It still doesn’t feel right,” she informs me.

“It will. With time.” I focus my attention on jars of liquids to use as makeup. I pick up a small red one and dip my pinky in it. I spread it over my plump lips, giving them a shock of color that nearly matches my hair. Catherine has had the maids leave a small towel with a bowl of water. I use it to clean my hands before pinching color into my cheeks.

“Shall I line your eyes after I help you into your dress?”

“Yes, please.” I walk to Constance. She unlaces my dress, leaving me in just my corset and underskirts. She helps me into my red dress and laces this up tightly. It pushes my breasts up far more than usual.

“Your shrug.” Constance helps me slide on my shrug over my dress. She ducks down and helps me step into my gold heels. She steps back and looks me over. “You look stunning, Poppy. Let me get you your jewels and then I will line your eyes.”

“Thank you.” I sit patiently on the bed as she brings over a bracelet, earrings, a necklace, and rings to put on.

“Close your eyes,” she commands gently. I obey, and feel the wooden pencil dipped in liquid kohl trace the base of my eyelashes on my upper lids. “Open them.” I open my eyes and look up as she lines the bottom of my eyes. She steps back and looks over her work critically. “Perfect. You’re a vision in red.”

I smile at her praise. “Thank you. Francis shall be here soon. Would you like my help getting ready?”

“That wouldn’t be right, m’lady.” Constance flushes heavily at her blunder.

“No worries, Constance. I haven’t got any other maidens here yet, and I like to help out. It makes me feel practical.”

“Very well.” Constance pulls out a pretty dark green dress from her traveling case. “Would you unlace me?”

“Yes.” I unlace her light beige dress and drape it over a chair. She reaches out to me as she puts on her new dress, using my arm to balance. I button up the back and smooth the shoulders down.

“Thank you.”

I take a step back from her and scan her up and down. “You’re missing something, I think.”

“What would that be?”

“Jewels,” I answer. I root through my drawers.

“M’lady, I couldn’t.”

“I want you to. And here, put on these gloves.” I put the satin gloves on her open hands and start piling jewelry on top of them. She looks somewhat flustered by my actions. I ignore her expression and settle a pretty tiara on her head. “There. Now you look ready for French Court.”

“Forgive me, m’lady, but why are you being so kind to me? I mean, you have always been kind and we have always been close, but not to this extent. I am wondering what has inspired the change in you.”

I sigh and sit on the backless love seat in front of the fireplace. “Constance, come and sit with me.” She joins me wordlessly. “You were right in what you told me earlier. France is not Denmark. It is not even Norway. It has many powerful people, people who would kill for power. Look at me, love.” She meets my eyes, such a pale blue in comparison to my vivacious green ones. “I am expected to look and act a certain way, as are you now. You are from an extraordinarily wealthy family, Constance. Now it is time that you show it.”

She nods slowly. “I understand, m’lady.”

“Good. We have each other. We will be okay.” There is a knock at the door, and the guards open it to reveal the future king of France. “Francis. Is it time to visit Bash?”

“Yes. Let’s go.” Constance and I stand and follow Francis down a few flights of stairs. “Bash is resting in Nostradamus’ chambers. He’s safe there.”

“It’s so dark and moldy here,” I complain.

“It is a castle,” Francis teases with a smile. I roll my eyes at him. He knocks on the door gently. A tall bearded man opens it slowly. His hair is scraggly and his eyes seem haunted. “This is Nostradamus. Nostradamus, this is Poppy Tudor, future queen of Denmark and Norway and her handmaiden, Constance.”  
Nostradamus bows. “Come in,” he says. His voice is raspy and quiet. “Sebastian is resting. He has just eaten and is awake.”

Francis, Constance, and I duck into the small room where Bash is laying. He turns and looks at us. He sees Francis first. “Ah, little brother, have you come to see how my wounds are healing? Nostradamus says I have fought off the worst of the infection.”

“That’s great, Bash. But I brought people you might want to see.”

“And who might that be?”

Constance steps out from behind me and approaches him. “Hello, Bash. I doubt you recognize me. I am Constance of Saxon.”

“I remember you, but I don’t quite recognize you. It’s been seven years, hasn’t it?” Bash asks.

“Ten, now,” Constance says shyly.

“If you’re here, then…” Bash trails off quietly.

I summon up all of my courage and step out from behind Francis. Bash’s eyes settle on me immediately, and widen. The last time I saw him I was thirteen, with awkward and gangly limbs, wild red hair, and hardly any manners. “Hello, Bash.”

He doesn’t speak for a few more moments. “Hello, Poppy.”

“So you do recognize me,” I say as my lips curl into a mischievous smile.

“Yours is a face I could never forget,” he says seriously. My stomach flutters at his words. “And any man, woman, or child who forgets that hair must be ill.” I laugh and my hand subconsciously goes to my wild curls. Does he not like it? “Don’t worry. I have missed seeing that hair. Come and sit with me so I can touch you and we can tell each other our secrets.”

My feet automatically take me to him. I settle into the chair next to his makeshift bed. I take his hand in mine. “Why is it that the first time I return since I was a child, you are on your deathbed?”

“I wanted to get you alone,” he jokes. His words are playful but the look he gives to Francis and Nostradamus says otherwise.

“We’ll wait right outside. Come out when you’re ready to go to the feast,” Francis tells me. With that, he ushers Constance and Nostradamus out.

Bash’s free hand strokes my long curls and settles on my waist. “You’re still as beautiful as I remember. So tell me, what misfortune brings you here to French court?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought.


End file.
